Author's Note: I just had so many tech issues with this site that I ended up re-uploading this story. Fingers crossed that was all.
Chapter 2: Intruder
Michelle swore under her breath as she fumbled through the seemingly endless array of similar looking keys on her lanyard. She tried three before the door to her apartment finally allowed her entry. She pushed the door open with her foot, trying desperately to balance her newly acquired cup of coffee, tote purse full of files, and regular purse full of nonsense. She maneuvered herself through the opening and shut the door with her elbow. She kicked off her shoes in the dark hallway (key and cup still in hand) and walked to her couch, slouching her shoulders and letting the heavy bags fall into the soft cushions. In a few quick strides, she was across the length of her modest studio apartment, pulling a cold slice of pizza from fridge. She leaned against the counter, taking quick bites in the dark. A few rays of scattered streetlight fell in from her kitchenette window. It mixed with the green numbering on the digital clock of her microwave. And the red light on her laptop camera.
Michelle stopped chewing. Her eyes crept back across the apartment to her desk, back to the red light on her laptop. Her open laptop. Her open laptop that she never left open. She swallowed the mush of cheese, bread, and sauce in her mouth. Someone had been in her home. No one had her key, not even her mother. She tossed the crust in the trash and quickly washed her hands. She checked behind the couch, under her bed, and in the closets. She grabbed a knife before checking the bathroom. There was no one here. She turned on her heel, heading back to the kitchenette. She dug out a ceramic bowl from her cupboard and a lighter from the counter drawer below.
"C'mon…c'mon…." Michelle whispered, burning a layer of soot onto the bottom of the bowl. She grabbed her previously held knife and scraped the soot into a small, glass mixing bowl. She repeated the action until a pile of black powder sat in the center. She traded the ceramic bowl for a can of corn starch, adding an equal part of the white powder to the soot. She mixed it with a spoon and grabbed a still-new makeup brush from her dresser. Of course, she would use it for dusting fingerprints before applying makeup. That was just her luck. She dipped the brush into the powder mix and slowly spread it across the desk and laptop. Nothing. Not even her own fingerprints. Someone had wiped these surfaces. She tried the doorknob next, recalled that she hadn't touched it when opening it. Nothing on either side. Michelle groaned and walked back into the living room. Her quick strides caught, and she tripped. If she hadn't landed against her small dining table, powder would have gone flying everywhere. "For fuck's sake."
She pulled her foot out of the tear in her carpet. She frowned at it. A stray nail from her bookshelf had snagged the carpet the day she moved in, and if she wasn't careful, something would catch it and bunch the carpet together. She would have to lift one side of the bookshelf and use her foot to flatten the carpet against the floor again. She set down the bowl of powder and brush, sighing in defeat. A thought occurred to her before her hands landed against the side of the bookshelf. That tear wasn't big enough to swallow my foot before. And I didn't hear it tear when I tripped. It just gave. Her eyes darted back to the laptop. She moved in front of it, took a few steps back, and pretended like she was heading to the door. Michelle took three careful steps. The third landed right on the edge of the torn carpet. She began chewing on the insides of her cheeks, a chronic habit whenever she was deep in thought or particularly nervous. He broke in. He messed with my laptop. He turned to leave. His foot caught. The carpet ripped more. He lifted one end of the bookshelf and flattened it back down. She grabbed the powder and brushed it along the side of the bookshelf. Bingo. Three full fingerprints and part of a palm. Much too large to be her own. And an entirely different pattern. She rushed to grab the clear tape from her desk and a piece of printer paper. She carefully transferred the prints and sealed the page in a zip-lock bag from the kitchen.
Michelle stormed up to the laptop and looked directly into the camera. She slapped the space bar a few times until the display turned on. There was just a white screen. She ran her fingers back and forth across the trackpad, tried to locate her cursor, to no avail. She heard the distinct buzz of a microphone and rage ripped through her. This creep was watching her. Who was it? She racked her brain. The list of weirdos was certainly long enough—a byproduct of her job as a prosecutor. She leaned closer to the camera held up the zip-lock back of fingerprints in view, trying to goad the intruder into speaking. Maybe she would recognize his voice.
"You left fingerprints, pervert. I'm going to run them through AFIS and nail your ass to a fucking cross for this."
"You won't find those prints in AFIS." a scrambled, robotic voice answered. No help there.
"The least I can do is enter them into the system." Michelle shot back. "If you're stupid enough to leave them once, you'll leave them again. Just a matter of time." She straightened out and grabbed her purse from the couch.
"I wouldn't advise it." the voice replied calmly.
"Fuck you. Like I'm going to take your advice." She swung the bag over her shoulder but stopped in mid-step when a sharp knock rattled the wood of her front door. She took a step back, trapped in the darkness of her apartment.
"My advice is quite good. I recommend taking it." the voice mocked. Michelle dumped out her purse and grabbed her cell phone. She flipped it open and clicked a button. No response. She began smashing random buttons. Still no response.
"No, no, no." she whispered. She grabbed the charger on her desk. Her hands shook as she plugged her phone in. Another sharp knock made her jump. She waited. She held down the power button. Still nothing. "What the fuck is happening?" The panic was bubbling up in her voice now.
"You really shouldn't leave your phone unattended. Especially in a courthouse. There are all sorts of unsavory characters walking about." the voice answered her rhetorical question. She thought for a moment before flipping it over, nearly breaking a nail to claw the cover off the back. The battery was missing. The SIM card was still present. She had been at trial all day. A bailiff had waved her down before she left and handed the phone to her. Did he have something to do with this? No, unlikely. He had probably just come across the phone on a conference room desk and kindly returned it to the only party utilizing the space. The next knock brought tears to her eyes. Michelle had a cell phone and a laptop. That was it. Both were nonfunctional at the moment. She had gotten rid of her landline when she upgraded her internet connection from dial up to DSL. It was supposed to be faster. She really should have opted for safer. She sunk to her knees.
"What do you want?" she choked out.
"Me? You're the one that requested a meeting."
"Huh?" Another knock. She looked at the white screen and a cloister black letter 'L' appeared.
"You can open the door. Watari has your phone battery.
"W-Watari?" she repeated stupidly.
"He'll exchange it for the fingerprints." The explanation was so matter-of-fact. Like he hadn't stolen her phone battery, broken into her home, hacked into her computer, and put her in fear for her life. Another knock brought her out of her thoughts. Michelle stood on shaky legs, like a newborn fawn, and gingerly made her way to the front door. She stood on the very tips of her toes to see a man in a trench coat, homburg hat, black mask, and sunglasses. It was almost 10:00pm. She never would have entertained the idea of opening the door for such a suspicious character if she hadn't seen the InterPol pin on his lapel. She cracked the door open, just enough slide the zip-lock bag out to the tall stranger.
"I'll need to come in and make sure the prints are gone from the shelf, as well." Watari explained. His voice sounded odd. Like he was trying to disguise it in an American accent. There was a hint of British in it.
"I'm not letting you in without my cell battery." Michelle negotiated. Watari dipped his gloved hand into the deep pockets of his coat and pulled out a battery. She quickly grabbed it and shut the door. She practically ran to her phone and pushed the battery into the open back. She flipped it over and sighed with relief when the screen lit up. She sent a text, made a call, and felt safe enough to return to the door. She opened it to the patiently waiting man and stepped aside to let him in. "So, this is the procedure for getting a meeting with L?" Michelle asked, following Watari to the shelf. He gave no response as he began cleaning the surfaces of the wood. "Petty theft? Breaking and entering? Unauthorized computer access? It's too much just to email me back?"
"From the looks of your inbox, I doubt you would've replied in the timely manner." L's robotic voice called out. She frowned at the computer.
"Get out of my emails! That's confidential information!"
"I didn't read them. It was just hard not to notice. And please only refer to me as Emil from this point forward." L replied.
"This is highly irregular and inappropriate."
"It's necessary to protect myself." L assured.
"All clear." Watari stood and let himself out of the apartment, leaving Michelle alone in the dark again. She glanced at the computer. Well, almost alone.
"Please, have a seat." L invited. She had to laugh at the irony of being treated like both a guest and a suspect in her own home. Michelle pulled out her desk chair and sat in front of the computer. "What did you want to discuss?"